


From a Howe to a Cousland

by Reyavie



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyavie/pseuds/Reyavie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warden sees the Mother as a monster. Nathaniel Howe sees something much different. One-shot, dark, character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From a Howe to a Cousland

**xxxXXXxxx**

_I will be Fergus' Captain. Look after his home. Our home. Protect him._

_Will you? And what is my place in this plan of yours?_

_We will marry. We will live in Highever. You will hunt, keep us safe and take care of the children._

**xxxXXXxxx**

Nathaniel doesn't know when it becomes obvious. There is the hint of a similarity of features underneath the blood, one he discards as coincidence. A voice, a voice so corrupted, so changed it seems like something born out of the Black City itself. In the middle of battle nothing of this matters. The Mother does. Black haired, black blooded, black hearted. She attacks like their death is her sole purpose. Like she wishes nothing more than reducing them to nothing. They defend themselves as they can.

Arrow after arrow, he protects his Commander. The man is reckless, jumping into the middle of tentacles and Children, attacking like stopping means a quick death. He is intelligent though. If direct attack is what he thinks to be necessary, Nathaniel follows without questioning. That is the sort of loyalty the Orlesian has won of him.

"Nate, higher ground. Anders, behind. Ogrhen, with me." The distinct Orlesian accent is heavier with tiredness. Nathaniel notices every detail. The Commander is fighting slower than usual, his shield used far more than his sword. Anders drinks potion after potion, trying to avoid being clawed to death and Ogrhen, even him is silent, screaming only when attacking, inaccurate shouts which mean little.

He is slowly, but surely, running out of arrows.

The rogue knocks one after the other, the child at his feet, the one by the corner, the Mother, another child and again and again _and again_ until his arms tremble in pain and his aim suffers. Anders throws a spell his way and his muscles steady for precious moments.

Focusing on the Mother, he can avoid the similarity no longer.

Blue eyes.

_She had blue eyes. Dark hair and blue eyes, blue as the sea he loved so much_.

"She's almost down! Nathaniel!"

His hands prepare the poisoned arrows without thinking or looking. The thing's eyes are blue. Had been blue. Corrupted as they are now, they had been a light shade once, familiar as his own heartbeat.

_She was hard. Hard as stone and twice as difficult to deal with_.

Anders attacking, fireballs and storms, he is a rather destructive man. But it works. Slowly, the number of creatures which had been stifling is returning to something much more manageable. Only the Mother remains dangerous.

Her tentacles never touch him, avoiding the place Nathaniel occupies with careless abandon. They hit Anders instead, bash the dwarf against the cave walls and their Commander to the ground. They are slashed one by one until none is left. Nothing bar her, ready to be cut down.

_She was suspicious and kind, odd and happy, fitting into her surroundings like one born and bred for it_.

The Commander is about to make the final blow. Nathaniel can see and predict what will happen. A quick run, direct to the chest. The head maybe. Quick and as painless as possible. The man abhors causing unnecessary harm even to a creature which would have killed them a thousand times if she had had the chance. A good man. A strong one. And one who has nothing to do with this situation.

Before Gerod can draw his sword, Nathaniel is already jumping off his perch, running towards the Mother through the Children's bodies, ignoring any screams for him stop because _she is standing in front of him, ignoring his brother,_ because she is the important one, always was. She was the one who kept him wondering about the future, about the return _and even Gilmore she ignored, her father she ignored, his choices for her and her hand on his arm, let us dance, Nathaniel_. _Eyes of sea and hair of coal._ Maker above, he failed her so. The dagger he holds would be more deserving of his blood, not hers. Never hers.

_She was free._

This isn't freedom.

Nathaniel crosses the last feet on a sprint, jumping on the tentacles which persist to keep away from him to climb onto the creature. Climbs and climbs until her arms push him away, squeeze his torso like overgrown cranes. So do his lungs. Squeeze his heart until he's sure his blood has stopped running. Her eyes are so close, blue, still blue underneath, brimming with blood instead of the tears his father planted.

"He's dead."

The hands around his ribs seem to stop squeezing. The eyes blink, she doesn't laugh anymore, the high pitched laugh which is nothing like her.

"He's dead," the rogue repeats quickly. "The Wardens killed him." She must understand. She needs to know. She, of all people, deserves to know. And he hates his father more than anything for the first time since a stupid child, thrown into the Free Marches. He hates him for doing this to her. Taking her environment away, a flower away from its earth, taking her support, her shelter. Rendon has destroyed her. And he hates him more for making his son clean up his mess.

Nathaniel's dagger buries itself in what would be wrists and cuts till the bone. Enough to release him. Another jump and he is on the thing's shoulder, another movement and the dagger is sliding against her neck and then inside. He wants to make it quick more than anything, she doesn't deserve suffering. But darkspawn are too powerful. It takes time to cut deep enough, for her to stop moving, for the blood to stop sliding and pressuring him against her rotten flesh with each slip.

Eventually, the body beneath him turns colder and stops twitching. Nathaniel doesn't notice. He's busy keeping his stomach settled for time enough to fall to the blissfully stable floor, knees and hands against the ground. Only then, he's able to let it all out. Even tears. He is sure he cries at some point, hidden poorly by her shadow.

"Hey, it's over now." Gerod is suddenly by his side, an arm beneath his to pull him away from the disgusting mess he has done. "What was that all about? Not like you to act like this."

Like a maniac?

Nathaniel hears the words unsaid easily. He would have thought the same had someone else acted as stupidly. There are reasons, of course. A woman who was black haired and blue eyed, graceful and proud, smiling whenever she saw him, her arm on his and not around his chest, not covered in blood or crying while murdering others. A woman his father had destroyed and the darkspawn corrupted.

"Nathaniel?" The Commander tries again.

"I'm fine."

He swallows the disgust. Ignores the tears with the experience many losses have given him and turns his back to the remains of the darkspawn.

She is finally dead.

In silence, he follows the others. In silence, he plans to write to Fergus. The man deserves to know his sister is at peace. A gift from a Howe to a Cousland.

**xxxXXXxxx**

_Children, is it?_

_Of course! I want to be a mother soon._

_Forgive me then. We seem to be losing vital time for that achievement while talking._

_Always thinking of my welfare, Nate._

_Undoubtedly. And that will be enough conversation, Elissa._

**xxxXXXxxx**   



End file.
